A blond bumps into you

[If you are not using game mode, know that this chapter is dependent on John not having met Tiffany yet]

You've barely stepped out onto the pavement, blinking in the late-afternoon light and wondering where Claire has gotten to, when something small, fast and blond hits you at roughly the speed of a runaway shopping trolley. You feel her massive breasts impact you, cushioning the collision, working like an airbag.

"Oh my god! Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"

You catch her by the elbows on instinct, which is the only reason neither of you ends up on the cobblestones. She's staring down at her phone, which has somehow survived the collision, and then up at you, wide-eyed and a little breathless. Slight locks escaping from a loose ponytail, a sundress that's seen better luck with gravity, and the kind of lean, athletic build that suggests she's spent a great deal of her life being thrown into the air and caught again, and cushions in all the right places to soften any fall, regardless of back or front.

"No harm done," you say. "Were you running from something?"

"From a map, mostly." She holds up the phone as evidence, wincing. "It said the money gram was right here, and then it said I'd arrived, and then it said I was somewhere else entirely, and I just started walking really fast like that would fix it." She seems to register that you're still holding her elbows, glances down at your hands, and then back up at you with a slow, unembarrassed grin. "Not that I'm complaining about the landing."

You let go, a beat slower than strictly necessary. "Glad I could be of service. Though if you'd like to avoid the next one, the money gram's behind me. Left door."

"Of course it is." She laughs, bright and unselfconscious, and tucks a curl behind her ear. "I'm Tiffany, by the way. Foreign student, few days in, already assaulting strangers. I promise I'm usually less of a hazard."

"John. And I'd say the jury's still out on that."

"Rude." But she's smiling when she says it, openly, and takes a half-step closer instead of back. "Do you come here a lot? To this... cafè, here, i mean. Please say yes, so I can pretend I picked this place on purpose."

"First time, actually. I'm told it's a strange place."

"Strange how?"

"The men read, the women interrupt."

"Wait, that's the whole thing? That's the concept?" She presses a hand to her chest, delighted. "That is the most unhinged thing I've ever heard. I love it here already."

The door swings open behind you, and Claire steps out with her book under one arm, spotting you immediately and slowing, eyebrows rising with undisguised interest as she takes in the blond girl still standing close enough to be standing in your personal space.

"Sorry, am I interrupting something?"

"Oh my god, no, umm, hi!" Tiffany pivots to her with the same open, unfiltered warmth, entirely unbothered. "I just ran into your friend. Literally. I'm Tiffany."

"Claire." She shakes Tiffany's hand, smiling, and glances at you with an expression you can only describe as thoroughly entertained. "That sounds like John. He attracts that sort of thing, apparently."

"Does he?" Tiffany looks you over again, with considerably more interest this time. "Honestly, I'm not surprised. He has very catchable energy."

"That's not a thing," you say.

"It's absolutely a thing," says Claire.

The three of you stand there chatting for a while longer than any of you planned. Tiffany asks Claire where she's from, squeals at the word Montreal as though it were a personal gift, and tells a rambling, delightful story about a hostel roommate who does yoga at five in the morning, while Claire laughs in all the right places and shoots you the occasional sideways glance that says I like her, don't mess this up. When Tiffany finally checks her phone and yelps at the time, you realize you're a little sorry to see it end.

"Okay, I'm actually super late for something, which is kind of a theme with me." She fishes in her bag and produces a pen, grabs your wrist without asking, and scrawls a string of digits across the back of your hand with a flourish. "There. Number. Because you caught me, and because I'm not going to remember where this money gram is by tomorrow anyway." She grins, leaning in slightly. "If you feel like doing something fun tonight, you can hit me up. No pressure. Well. A little pressure."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Good." She turns to Claire, giving her a quick, impulsive hug before Claire can react. "It was so nice meeting you! You seem awesome!" And then she's off down the street at nearly the same pace she arrived, curls bouncing, one hand waving over her shoulder without looking back.

You look down at the ink drying on your hand. Claire is looking at it too, grinning from ear to ear.

"Well," she says. "Aren't you popular today."

You say nothing, which seems to delight her further. She links her arm through yours as the two of you start walking, the afternoon sun warm on the cobblestones.

"So," she says lightly, tilting her head at you. "What are your plans for this evening?"